Little Dove
by akspick
Summary: (Jason as a dad). The olive branch of peace between Jason and the family is finally brought by a new addition to the brood. Although one could accredit it to Jason's always kind heart, or the fact that Jason and Bruce are as always more similar then they would care to admit.


I don't own Batman

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><p>"Hey B" Bruce jumps, actually jumps in his desk chair at Wayne Enterprises. Actually godforsaken jumps, in surprise, real surprise, pen falling out of his hand to clatter on his desk. Standing across from him next to one of the visitors chairs is Jason Todd. Jay, not Red Hood, standing in civvies across his desk in broad daylight, had apparently managed to sneak up on him. Jason who hasn't been seen in six months and has the rest of the family on edge to see what big scheme he's been cooking up while out of sight. At first Bruce thinks it's a hallucination, and then he tenses ready for a fight until-<p>

"Relax old man. Truce." Jason drawls holding up a hand in a back down gesture.

Bruce doesn't relax completely but he does lower himself back into his chair. Jason looks terrible. Only his black combat boot remain from his night wear, he's wearing torn jeans and a rumpled stained plain cotton hoody, with a bag slung across his back, instead of his usual black leather jacket and combat pants. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is greasy and limp. Jason's never been particular about his clothes, although he does prefer to be somewhat neatly pressed, they're usually just another tool to him, to convey a message, usually toughness. Bruce hasn't seen Jason look like this since he was living on the street. This sort of worn out look.

Bruce's heart clenches in guilt and worry, is this why the Red Hood hasn't been seen? Because Jason's gone back to living on the street. His son who spent as much time living on the street as under his father's roof. 'Please no' his mind whispers. 'let me not have missed that again, and this time' his mind hisses, 'he's old enough to stand on the street corners' He opens his mouth to ask, something anything trying to convey his worry but all that comes out is a growled,

"What do you want Jason?"

"I, B-" Jason runs a hand through his filthy hair, an innocuous gesture, but to the Bats comes across as extreme nerves "There's some one I need you to meet." And he pulls the bag on his back forward. Except it's not a bag, it's a sling. And in the sling is a child, an infant really. Who stirs for a moment before settling down in Jason's arms.

Bruce opens his mouth ready to comment but finds he has nothing to say and can only stare.

"B, you have to promise me, B you have to swear, before you meet her, you have to swear you won't take her away from me." Jason's face is as smooth a mask as any Bat but his eyes are full of true unbridled fear. Bruce doesn't respond, his own face a blank mask.

"_Dad_." Jason half barks have pleads, his voice full of raw emotion, focusing Bruce like a laser. "Swear you won't take her away from me, or I'll leave and I won't ever come back. I swear it B, I know you think I'm crazy and it would be for her own good, my own good, but if you even try, I'll walk out that door and I'll bury us so deep you won't ever see me again, not even before I kill you, and I will, I'd do anything for her." _Like you won't for me_, is left unspoken.

Consciously Bruce forces himself to sit down again, he hadn't even realized he'd risen in response to Jason's alpha posture. Jason's making himself as big as possible and looming, succeeding at it too even with the baby in his arms. All behaviors Jason had learned from him. He and Jason, always too much alike.

Bruce took in a breath and released it, placing his hands palm down on the desk, no weapons, Jay, see no weapons.

"I swear Jason, I won't take her away from you, never."

Jason deflates like a popped balloon. The weariness from before falling fast on his shoulders again.

"I-, oh, good, I know you probably thought Dick and Babs would be the first to-, and I'm sorry I did this to you before you were fifty and all. Another notch on my delinquency list, at least I'm not a teenager sort of and-" Jason pulls himself short and draws in a deep breath, before stepping around the desk and kneeling next to where Bruce's desk chair is, leaning forward over one of the arms, so Bruce can see into his arms.

"This is Marty." Jason speaks much softer now, "Your granddaughter." And there is a pleading note in his voice as he speaks the word granddaughter as if begging Bruce to accept her. "Would you like to hold her?"

All Bruce can do is open his arms.

She is a beautiful child. Not that Bruce knows a great deal about these things, but she looks about six months old, which answers the question of where Jason has been all this time. Bruce is enraptured by her, as Jason moves his arms into the correct position. She has a tuft of soft black hair, sticking out from under a knit cap, and there is a golden brown tint to her skin, suggesting Latino heritage. She, Marty, blinks slowly up at him, waking from her nap at the change in venue. She has light brown eyes, behind thick black lashes, and the button nose that all babies have, although it looks like it will grow into a point.

"Marty is short for Martha, if you'll allow it. Martha Todd?" It takes a moment for Bruce to focus back on Jason, and the uncertainty in his voice.

"Of course I'll allow it, I would be honored. Jason, she's beautiful."

"She's perfect." And Bruce hasn't seen Jason smile like that in a long time.

"Jason, I have to ask, her mother?"

"I don't know B. I'm not even her real father." Jason sinks down on his haunches as he speaks, relaxing as he deems his daughter safe, "I found her abandoned by some trash cans. She wasn't even all cleaned up yet, still covered in blood and fluid and things. Wrapped in an old blanket. I wouldn't have found her, and I know she's quiet now but damn does she have a set of lungs on her. How someone could even think to-. Anyway I would have gone to look for the mother, she probably couldn't have gotten far, but taking care of Marty seemed a lot more important."

Bruce nodded in agreement.

"Why not just call the police?"

"In this town?"

"Fair enough."

Jason has sunk even further, legs folded completely under him, head pooled in his arms, which lay crossed over the armrest of the desk chair. His head lolled to the side parallel with his daughter's as he watched her slowly wake. They sat in silence for a few moments just watching the baby.

"You look exhausted."

"You have no idea."

"Where have you been staying?" Apparently Jason still has enough energy to roll his eyes and squint skeptically up at Bruce.

"Nice try, but if it makes you feel better I have enough blood money to keep us more then adequately housed, fed, and clothed. I haven't been keeping her in some squat like I normally stay in. And you'll never find the money either."

"Jason."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm not trying to pick a fight, I just can't help myself."

"I know. If you like you can take a nap on the couch and I can mind her for a few hours? I would appreciate the chance to get to know my granddaughter better. When was the last time you had a break?"

"I-" Jason pauses before his brow furors, "never really. I mean I've been calling Roy for advice all the time, but-"

"Come on." Bruce steers his second son towards the couch in the corner of the office. Tucking Marty into one arm to do so, damn she really is ridiculously tiny.

Jason's really too tired to even raise up a token protest, as Bruce pulls a blanket out of one of the official looking filling cabinets, for emergency purposes only of course, and tucking it over Jason, who's managed to slump down in the two steps it took Bruce to walk to the cabinet.

For a moment Bruce feels like his heart might break in two, as an image of Jason at fourteen under the same blanket across the same couch superimposes itself briefly across the current image of his son at twenty. Jason had come roaring in that day after school, and a particularly brutal patrol the night before, raving about some book or another he'd been reading, before throwing himself down on the couch, and yawning his way through an explanation of why his English teacher was an idiot, and finally muttering about motifs my ass, before falling completely sideways. Jason had always loved school.

"There's diaper and food supplies in the sling, and some other stuff in my jacket." Jason mutters half into a couch cushion, with a vague gesture in the direction of those things, "and B, if she needs-"

"Jason I'll take care of it. If I can't I'll call Ma Kent. We'll both be right here when you wake up. We won't leave the room, I promise. We're not going anywhere." And he can't help himself but smooth back Jason's hair. The last time he did that Jason was in a box and his hair was brittle and his forehead cold, and he so desperately wants to feel its smoothness, but this time with warmth underneath. Even with that damned white stripe in his hair, only evidence of the toll all the stress and horror of death and resurrection had put on his body.

"Go to sleep Jay-lad. We'll be here when you wake up." Jay mutters something unintelligible before his eyes drift completely shut, and he's out.

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><p>When Jay wakes, he stays till for a few moments, as is always advisable when waking in a foreign environment. The sun is setting outside lighting the floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the office. Bathing the skyline and the office in its rosy hues, the desk lamp is on, but nothing else, casting long shadows.<p>

Jay shifts so he can watch Marty and Bruce. They're playing on the floor; Marty is on her back, laying on the silk lining of Bruce's jacket, were it's spread across the floor. Bruce is dangling his keys over her face, as she tries to snatch for them, cooing. He's leaning on his side, head propped up by an arm, shirtsleeves rolled up and tie discarded. They make such an odd contrast, with their different sizes and attires. The moment is surreal, Batman or Bruce Wayne, take your pick, either persona one of the most powerful men on earth is playing with a baby on his office floor.

Bruce has a look of contentment on his face, disrupted by something bittersweet.

"You know," he comments, making Jason drop the act and sit up, "I always used to imagine you all as babies. How much I had missed. How much I wished I had, had you then, and how selfish I was for even thinking that. Especially you Jason, how sometimes you would say or do something, and you wouldn't even know how-," Bruce cut himself off shaking his head, "and I wished I had found you earlier, especially after, after you died, and how I wished, maybe if I'd had you from the beginning, things would have been different, or had more time, but even after all that happened you still loved your mother, and I was so selfish for wanting to take you away from her. And how maybe if heaven or something was real, you could see her again. Then with Damian, how I could have, but his mother didn't tell me, didn't think I would want that, just an heir. I will never forgive her for that, never forgive the universe for that, either of them, even after they both brought you back to me."

"B-" Jason doesn't know what to say, he feels adrift. "B. You know death, isn't anything, if there was something I don't remember it, but when I was dying I wasn't thinking about my mother, I was thinking about you. I knew you weren't coming, but I wanted your there anyway, not as a last minute rescue, but because if you were there it wouldn't have hurt so much. Whatever it was when you were there things were always better, they never hurt as much, and even when I had good things they were better with you. That's why I had to bring Marty to you. She's so good, B, so very very good, and so perfect. Even though you screwed me up, well I screwed myself up, and you're pretty terrible at all this people stuff most of the time, and I'm gonna screw up with her too I'm sure, she's just so good B, so amazing beautifully good, you just had to meet her. You deserved to meet her. Without you I'd be dead or in jail or something, well I'm dead or in jail sometimes because of you too, but you know what I mean, without having done all that good stuff first, and then no one would have found her and she'd be gone too. So you deserved to meet her." Jason trails off. Going to sit on the floor cross-legged on the other side of Marty.

"You-" Bruce has to stop to clear his throat, "You should bring her to the manor next Friday, Alfred would love to meet her, and she has some Uncles and an auntie or two who'd be delighted. I'm sure some of Alfred's cooking wouldn't go unappreciated either."

"No it wouldn't. I might just do that B." Jason mutters, scooping up Marty from the floor and back into the sling. "We should get home before dark."

"I'll call a car."

"No need, we flew here, we can fly back."

"Are you sure that's good for her?"

"Roy's been doing it with Lian since she was four months old, and Dick says his Dad took him up on the wire when he was two weeks old. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets her to settle." Jason shrugs, and moves to the window that opens and leads to the roof, against a dozen city codes and laws.

"If your sure," Bruce mutters as Jason perches on a ledge. "And Jason."

Jason turns back from where he's scaling scaffolding.

"Yeah, B?"

"I wouldn't mind given her more than the name Martha. Marty Todd-Wayne sounds just fine."

"I'll think about it." Jason nods and then he's gone into the night, swinging away.

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><p>Twelve years later...<p>

Marty is twelve years old today, and as her Uncle Dick had told her laughing this morning, it is an auspicious day. Next year will be even more exciting, because she'll get to go on patrol if she wants, but today is also the first day she gets to go out in public. Well she's been out in public before of course, but never in the public eye before and this is the first time she's going out as a Wayne, to an event, one that even has her name in it. The annual Martha Wayne Children's Charity Gala. Which her Uncle Tim had told her was a Big Responsibility, while her Dad had rolled his eyes, and her Uncle Damien had muttered something probably rude. But it doesn't really matter since she's the first of her cousins to get to go, and it doesn't matter what anyone else says about the event she is excited.

So her Dad had dropped her off this morning, and after staying only for a brief chat had kissed her on the cheek and told her he'd be back later for her actual party, which would happen after the gala, and he promised he would be on his best behavior for it, and not start any fights with her Uncles and he wouldn't even bring his guns! Then he'd roared off on his bike.

Marty's Aunt Cass had shown up after breakfast, and the two of them had spent the day getting ready. Going from a spa to lunch, and then to manicures and stylists. For a girl who still hadn't quite grasped the intricacies of the necessity of a hairdryer and could disembowel a guy in seconds flat, Marty's Aunt Cass could get quite enthusiastic over nail color, and accessories.

Now Marty was standing upstairs in the manor in a red sparkly dress and her very first pair of heels staring at herself in the tri-fold mirror she'd discovered tucked away in a back bedroom.

She looked odd, nice but so very strange, Marty almost didn't recognize herself. Her black thick curly hair, the only trait she shared with her Dad, was up-swept and tamed, instead of in its usual ponytail, the only hairstyle her Dad knew how to do, unlike Uncle Dick who could do everything. Her lashes looked long, and somehow her skin, which was the darkest in her whole family, except for Auntie Tam looked like it was glowing. She looked like a lady, like her Aunt Cass did sometimes. She tried to pull her shoulders back and set her chin just so, like she'd seen the women in the pictures do, but she just looked silly, so she went back to just scowling.

"So this is where you got to." Marty didn't jump, she _didn't._ It was just a hop really.

"Hello, Grandpa."

"If you keep your face like that it'll stick."

"That's what Dad says too, but I don't believe either of you." Marty finally spun around, staring up at her only Grandfather, well there was Alfred but he was more of a Grandmother sometimes the way he acted, or a great-grandfather.

Her only grandfather was tall, a more accurate word was huge, wherever he went he filled up a lot space, like her Dad and Uncle Damien. People tended to think it was scary but she'd always thought it was reassuring. It made her feel safe, especially with how small she was.

Grandfather had streaks of silver in his dark hair, and a strong jaw, on a stern face only starting to get wrinkles. She knew he was young, a lot younger then most other kids grandfather's but she didn't mind. He had the clearest blue eyes you would ever see, and while she'd seen them drill through almost everyone including her father, they were always kind when focused on her. And that sort of half smile twitched on his lips, yup there it was.

"I have something for you."

"Dad said you might. He said it was important?"

Marty's grandfather let out a small huff.

"Not so important no, but a gift nonetheless. Your Aunt Cass and Selina said it was time, and said you ought to have it more then the two of them." And he held out a grey velvet box.

Marty opened it carefully.

Inside was a beautiful double strand of pearls.

"They look old." Marty said with reverence, "Am I supposed to wear them?"

"If you'd like," Bruce said, Marty nodded.

"Here let me." And with steady hands her Grandfather knelled before her and attached them around her neck, and then leaned back on his haunches, palms on his thighs. A wistful look on his face.

"You look so much like her."

"Like Who?"

"My mother, Martha. The pearls belonged to her."

"Grandpa," Marty said in her patient, you are being silly voice, "I'm adopted, and Dad's adopted, and I'm Latina, how could I look like her? I don't look like anyone in the family."

"You're kind Marty, and graceful, that's why you look like her, and you keep our family together, like my mother used to, besides how many times have people told your Dad he looks like me?"

"Loads, but that's cause, like Uncle Dick says, you both look like Gotham bruisers."

"Well regardless, you are my granddaughter and I love you very much, despite your ridiculous Uncle. Now come on, Cass, Tim and Damien are waiting downstairs for us, and you know how they get."

Bruce held out a hand for her.

Instead of taking it, Marty hugged him quick around the middle.

"Thank you, Grandpa."

"You are very welcome little dove."

"Why do you always call me that?"

"Because you've always brought peace to this family. Now, lets go introduce you to the big wide world."

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